


Stall Me - A lengthy Strangerville fanfiction

by FroggyRobinson



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroggyRobinson/pseuds/FroggyRobinson
Summary: Ambitious FBI agent Ozzy Whitmore is promised the title of captain if she solves one case that nobody else has been able to crack. She travels to desert town Strangerville and teams up with conspiracy theorist Erwin Pries to solve the mystery of what ales the town. This results in the discovery of deep, dark secrets revolving around the world as they know it. And finding romance in unexpected places. In a time like this, the only people Ozzy and Erwin can trust are each other.





	1. We Don't Talk About It

“You know 85 percent of FBI agents are unhappy in their jobs.” Says my semi-close ‘acquaintance’ Avery Kellogg. “Most of them go in unwillingly, to follow the passions of other people.” 

“Like Hannah Carter? You could tell she was unhappy.” Chimes in Stacie Dyson, another woman at the table. 

I hate gossip. It is so unproductive. Especially when it is about my field of work. Avery’s statistics about the FBI (Fantastical Bureau of Intelligence, we don’t talk about the other one) are incredibly incorrect. Only 83.6537168 percent of agents feel unhappy with their jobs. Even I was almost talked out of it by my first captain - who was that commissioner. But this was (is) my dream. I couldn’t sit back and let people get away with the sinister crimes that would typically go under the radar at any point before 2046, the year the agency was founded. 

I truly know nothing about the Carters. John and Hannah’s descendants have refused to speak with the press since their (first?) child was born. Their identity as of now is completely redacted to the public. Along with any possible offspring of theirs. Which begs the question: what is the Carter family hiding? 

I guess, as a planet, we don’t talk about it. 

“Oh my god, Stacie.” Whispers a third woman (Desirae Isaac) as she leans into the table. “We’re in public, we can’t talk about _those people_.” 

Stacie slides down in her chair as if embarrassed by Desirae’s comment. 

“Let’s talk about them for a second.” Raises the only other person at the table to not have a word in this; Caitlin Conway. “Most women who follow their husbands into this organization, yes including Hannah, have made a lot of personal sacrifices for their careers. I can definitely assure you that Ozzy hasn't though.” She lifts her head and looks at me. I am momentarily caught off guard since I don’t even have a husband. Who would I be following even if I was? _The only thing I would be following is my dreams_ , I think as if that would be some kind of witty comment. 

By the time I have finished this thought journey Avery, Stacie and Desirae are all looking at me. I should probably say _something_. 

The only thing I am able to spit out is: “Haha, I know right?” 

“Unless there _is_ a Secret Agent Prince Charming who did sway her into this treacherous field of work.” Chuckles Avery. 

“That is by far the dumbest thing I have ever heard.” Caitlin retorts as she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Oh come on. If it can happen for me it can happen for any of you ladies.” Says Stacie as she shows off a diamond ring on her left ring finger. 

I don’t think I could ever find someone who I could experience what Stacie has with Melvin, especially not while doing case work. The vast majority of who I meet on the job are either 80 years old, absolute goons, gay men, or sad college girls. 

I remember the first time Stacie introduced us to Melvin I silently made fun of his name constantly, but Caitlin did out loud. He took no offence to it (probably since he’d been getting that his entire life) and tried to explain to us that he was named after some famous wizard. Although he didn’t look like a wizard, or someone who should be named Melvin. He was around 6’2 and had the haircut of Chris Pine in Wonder Woman. Your average generic pretty boy (can I say that?). Melvin looked like he should be named Steven or Robert, or something to that effect. But never anything for short, like Steve, or Bob, or Robbie. Maybe his close friends call him Rob or his family called him Stevie when he was little. All of this aside, his name was still Melvin, an utterly strange name.

A few hours later, I return to the precinct. On my desk where my case files would be (if I had any) is a note: 

**_Agent Oscar Whitmore,_ **

**You have been selected by**

**me to work a very important**

**case which could majorly**

**affect your future in the FBI.**

**If you choose to accept, meet**

**me in my office.**

**Sincerely, Commissioner REDACTED**

I have no idea what this could mean. ‘Majorly affect my future in the FBI’? Will I be suspended if I fail to solve this case? Will it be passed on to Brandon from the otherside of the bullpen if I can’t? Was anyone else selected? 

I refuse to let myself panic. I grab the note and stuff it in my pants pocket in case it is confidential. My bowling shoes click on the laminate floor as I rush over to the Commissioner’s office. I slowly step through the sliding doors at the top of a small flight of stairs into their office. 

“Agent Whitmore!” Says Redacted in a cheery tone as they turn in their wheely desk chair. “It took you long enough to get here. I’m guessing you saw my note.” 

“Yes, I did. And I sincerely apologize for any reason which might have led you to my suspension.” 

“Suspension? Have you taken your meds today, Whitmore? No. I don’t want to suspend you...I want to promote you.” They get up from their chair. “Do you remember when you told me how you wanted to be captain of your very own precinct some day?”

“Yes…” 

“Well today...or once you solve the case I have for you...will be the day!” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” I stammer. “I’m not even a lieutenant or a sergeant. Why me?” 

“Because.” Says the Commissioner as they hand me the case file. 

I grab onto the thin file. _Is this really the case that is going to make me a captain?_ I am tempted to flip through it. There can’t be more than three pieces of paper in here. But I resist the impulse. At this point Commissioner Redacted has assumed that I have accepted. _Do I even have a choice?_ All I can guess is that once my hands touched the smoothe paper that this file is made of, I am now bound to it, and it defines my destiny. 

“Perfect! Your bus to the Kakutasu region leaves tomorrow.” 

Why am I going to the Kakutasu region _in Maxis_? Why do I have to take a bus? Why does this small-seeming case define my career as a member of the FBI? Why must there be so many secrets? 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Episode 2 

_Welcome to Strangerville!_ _Everything is fine!_

  
  
  



	2. Welcome to Strangerville! Everything is Fine!

I stare out the window on the bus nearly half asleep. I can barely hear the music the man next to me is listening to through a pair of cheap earbuds, over the clanging of the bus every time it runs over the smallest rock. I can hear the beat of ‘September’ by The Earth, Wind and Fire through his earbuds. I once read an article saying how the person who wrote that song’s philosophy was to never let lyrics get in the way of groove. His words, not mine. But I guess that can serve as a metaphor and adapt that into any part of one’s life. I would probably be saying this to the man next to me if he didn't have a pair of earbuds in. We’re in such close quarters on this bus that my fluffy red hair almost touches the shoulder of his vintage purple windbreaker. And no, he is not a Melvin. In fact, (this might be my overtiredness talking) he actually looks like the singer from The Earth, Wind and Fire. 

I hear ‘September’ end just as the bus parks. I don't hear the driver say anything about our location, but I know where we are. I stayed up all of last night trying to find out as much as I possibly could about Strangerville. It is a small town surrounded by orange sand and hoodoos, nestled at the edge of the Kakuatsu desert. It turns out there was some kind of explosion that caused an old military plane to crash. Thankfully, there were no casualties. After the explosion, the military personnel flocked to the town. All of this aside, my eyes quickly focus in a pod shaped plant, no larger than the average Thanksgiving turkey amongst the sand. The plant has a pink to plum gradient from the bottom up, being held by blue claw-like leaves. I step off the bus and get a better look at the terrain. The ground is speckled in these plants. But why? It looks like I have my work cut out for me this time. 

The bus drives away behind me off into the dusty mesa. With my gray Didas backpack in hand, I walk towards the town square while admiring the scenery. In front of a faded teal building in the center of town, a group of people in ankle length white lab coats chat about the latest news. Nothing overly exciting. Just the weather, soil moisture and how well everyone is getting on with their spouses. I approach a tan woman with short blonde hair. She is wearing an identification badge that says ‘Dr. A. McKinnon’. 

“Ozzy Whitmore, FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” I say firmly. Dr. McKinnon stares at me without responding. 

“So…” I continue in a sing-song tone to try and lighten up the exchange. “Could you tell me about what is going on here exactly?” 

There is a long pause. 

“Shouldn’t you already know? You are with the Feds after all. Why don't you ask one of the other  _ spies _ ?” Dr. McKinnon sneers the word ‘spies’ and says ‘Fed’ as though it is a slur. I suppose it is incorrect. Once again, different FBI. 

As far as I know I am the only agent from the Fantastical Bureau who knows anything about Starngerville, which is still next to nothing. I continue down the street towards the trailer park. I hear someone else's heavy footsteps next to me. The person stops in front of me and stares directly into my eyes. Her mouth is turned up into a painfully large smile. Larger than if she got married and then won the lottery on the same day. Her eyes are no better; they are stretched larger than humanly possible and her irises have shrunk beyond normal. The woman’s head tilts onto her left shoulder as she continues to stare at me with the same expression. 

“...Hello?” I say with hesitation. 

Her body springs towards me like a bullet from a gun and she hisses “join us in the crater!” And runs away at full speed with her arms and neck appearing barely attached to her body. 

I watch her run in the direction of the bus stop and take a deep breath.  _ Everything is fine _ I think mostly sarcastically. Finally, I sit down on the sidewalk and open up the case file that I've been clutching since I arrived. The paper inside of the file is incredibly different from anything I've been given before. Stuck to the inside is a large piece of post-it paper with the address of where I'll be staying written on it (I assume by the Commissioner). Besides the post-it is a few blurry pictures resembling the plants that pepper the town. At the back of the file is a dirty piece of notebook paper that is completely illegible. Certain parts are redacted in sharpie, other parts are ripped out or ruined by what I assume to be water. Anything else is just written in poor-kindergarten grade handwriting. 

_ That was no help.  _

I slam the file closed and get up from the sidewalk. I must look homeless, not because of the way I'm dressed but because of the fact that I am on a dirty sidewalk with nothing but some paper and a backpack. I continue up the street and passed the trailer park. Up ahead, at the edge of a wire fence, I hear some sort of commotion. 

As I get closer, I see a highly decked-out merchant stand with a middle aged woman peering in and throwing her hands up in anguish. 

“The disrespect.” She mutters as she stomps in my direction. 

I slide against the fence to avoid the woman's path. She clearly isn't watching what’s in front of her. I proceed to the merchant stand with slight caution, unaware of who would be waiting for me. 

On the other side of a wooden counter is a young man with his head rested on his hand, leaning on the counter. He has ginger hair like me and sad, empty green eyes. On his head is a silver colander with Christmas lights attached to it with yellow tape. His aesthetic matches his place of work. Behind him is an old TV displaying pure static, a small green gnome in a locked cage, t-shirts (I assume are merchandise), and posters of UFOs and monsters. The rest of the stand is packed with anything and everything. 

“Hi.” He says as he looks up from the counter. 

“Hello.” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Oscar Whitmore FBI. Could you please tell me what's going on here?” 

“FBI? You’re kidding.” He laughs. “I’m gonna guess the gay one where you all act like Brooklyn detectives.” 

“I’m sorry, I don't know what that means.” I say, trying to keep composure. 

“Doesn't matter. Erwin Pries, acting boss of the Strangerville Curio Shop. Pleasure to meet you,  _ agent _ .” 

I shake Erwin’s frigid hand. 

“Word of advice, if you want to get anywhere in this town, lose the badge and stop introducing yourself as an agent. They  _ really _ don't like you people around here.” He explains while motioning towards my badge pinned to the left side of my chest. 

“Why not?” 

“Most people don't have the brain cells to know the difference between the Federal Bureau and the Fantastical Bureau. The feds have been breaking into people's places and stealing their furniture. They say it's ‘infected’ or something.” 

“Infected?” 

“Look, I don't know how long you’ve been here for, but you’ve probably seen the crazy people around here. With the big eyes and stupid smiles. Like who just proposed to you, buddy?” 

_ That's similar to what I thought.  _

“I know you can keep a secret,” Erwin says as he leans closer to me. “Since who are you gonna tell? No one likes the feds-” 

“But I'm not a fed.” I argue without letting him tell me the secret. “I’m with the other guys. I’m a…  _ fant.  _ That's right. They should be calling me a fant!” 

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” Teases Erwin with a smile. “Now do you want to know the information or not?” 

I nod excitedly. He is the only person who will tell me anything, this includes my fellow agents. 

“A few weeks ago--you might wanna write this down--there was a massive explosion out by the not-so-secret secret lab behind the military base. Last week I heard outside of the bar that the crater the explosion left behind is the size of Windenburg. If that means anything to you. Don't know if you know what that means, but it’s a pretty big land mass.” 

I take out my notepad from the front pocket of my backpack and quickly scribble down basically, Erwin’s entire explanation. 

Without looking up I say, “yes, Erwin. I have been to Windenburg. I went there the summer after the 11th grade and I had to buy a jacket since it was cold and wouldn’t stop raining.” 

He sharply inhales as if to say:  _ why is she telling me this?  _ And then he laughs under his breath. 

“I’m glad you got to get rained on in eastern Maxis. I know people who would kill for that. Here,” he takes my pen and writes something on the back of a pamphlet. “Let me know if you need anything. That can't be answered by this brochure. You seem serious about this investigation and I like that. Everyone else in town just seems to be pretending.” 

“Why, why can't I just come back here?” I stutter as I take the pamphlet. 

“There's another person who works here. Her name is Brooklyn and she always gives discounts and doesn't swear at the customers. She's awful.” He explains sarcastically. 

“That reminds me, what were you getting so mad at that woman for?” I ask as I start to leave. 

“She tried to make up some sort of ‘buy one get four free’ sale and claimed I over charged her. And then she started yelling and I said some stuff to her that I should NOT repeat to a cop. Anything else, agent?” 

“No, I think that’s it, and it will be captain soon.” I say, still wondering what he said to her. 

I walk away from the Curio Shop and read the cover of the pamphlet. It has a picture of the hoodoos and the town below. At the top in bold letters it reads ‘ **WELCOME TO STRANGERVILLE: the only thing stranger than the people is the flora!** ”  _ I mean, that’s only half true. _

  
  
  



	3. Ethics Lessons

I was able to find my house with ease. StrangerVille is so small that it is almost impossible to get lost. Although, calling it a house would be an overstatement. It is a small building inside of the fenced off trailer park that I kept passing by, with a wide front yard and a small two-room interior. The dining room, bedroom, kitchen, and what could be a living room are all in one open concept (if you could even call it that). When I first arrived, the house was already furnished. This led me to become sceptical because it wasn’t listed as a B&B. The only explanation I could think of was the FBI set it up for me the same way they would for a safe house or witness protection. 

I sit down on the bed and open the pamphlet that Erwin gave me. It is quite sad really. The entire thing is full of ‘tourist attractions’ around town. This section consists of: the old motel, a food market by the bottom of the cliff, the bar, and the military base. In the section talking about the military base, it says that this is a military town and the military scene has been thriving since the explosion. They needed more personnel to help keep anyone away from the secret lab. 

A few hours have passed since I’ve been in town. I want to call Erwin and ask him more questions about the situation to further my progress with the investigation. I keep hitting these informational roadblocks. The best course of action would be to ask around and then go to the secret lab, but how dangerous would that turn out to be?

I am about to turn on the laptop that was left on the table, but I hear the door to the outside open. 

“Oscar! Thank God I found you. Thought you might’ve skipped town after what happened with Leslie.” Says Erwin while holding a black shopping bag that appears to be full. 

“How did you find my house? Who is Leslie? What’s in the bag?” I say aghast. 

“In order? One of my mentors used to live here and I saw that the lights were on and I got excited thinking that he might be back with the answer to the meaning of well … everything. Good to see he left all of his stuff here though. Wonder if there’s anything cool on his computer. Like a personal diary.” he says with stars in his eyes. 

“Wait, so this is all some guy’s stuff?” I ask, still royally freaked out. 

“If you think about it, everything is just ‘some guy’s stuff’, but to answer your question - yes this is all used. All of it. The whole shebang.”

“Like used-used? That’s gross, I don’t want some guy’s stuff.” 

“Well then you’re gonna hate what I have in this bag, but I gotta tell you who Leslie is first. Um, so you know that woman with the curly hair, she likes wearing floral shirts, she almost attacked you today.” He says the last bit ever so nonchalantly. 

“How did you know about that?” 

“Her roommate was watching the whole thing. She keeps trying to call me. This time I actually answered and she told me about the well dressed ghost lady that Leslie was creeping on.”

“And how did you know it was me?”

“Alice doesn’t call everyone a ghost, you look like you haven’t seen the sun in 15 years. And I knew it was you the second she said ‘well dressed’. Everyone else here dresses like cowboys or electricians.” 

I suppose I never considered that the people who have been infected have lives outside of the madness. Of course Erwin knows the roommate of Leslie. In a small town, everybody knows everybody. 

“Me, on the other hand? I have more of a ‘young mormon boy goes to Hot Topic for the first time’ vibe.” Erwin continues. 

“And Hot Topic sells Darlingside pins?” I ask pointing to a light gray and yellow pin on his vest. 

“Why would you bring that up? Thanks to Konnor from the comment section on that lyrics website, I’ll never look at Extralife the same again. He said the album was about the nuclear apocalypse. I listen to music so I  _ don’t _ have to think about that stuff.” Says Erwin absolutely distraught. 

“I’m sorry I brought it up.” I say as I open up the computer. 

Luckily for us, it is not password protected. The desktop is cluttered with PDFs and documents.  _ Bingo _ . I then realize that I spoke too soon. Every document is full of gibberish. They have titles such as:  _ World’s Finest Spaghetti Drawers, My First Pineapple Visit, Top Eighteen Bands With Moths,  _ and  _ the Time My Dad Took Us to Disney World and Got Kicked Out For Biting Buzz Lightyear.  _

“This man sounds like a Jason Mendoza.” I say out loud without looking up from the computer and opening a document titled: _Ball Caps are for Canadian Priests._

“You know the Good Place?” Asks Erwin. 

“A little. I’m not a superfan or anything, I just watched it all in one weekend when I had a sinus infection and couldn’t go to work.” I say. 

“Really?” Erwin’s face lights up. “Because I kinda see this as a Chidi and Eleanor situation.” 

“How?” I say with consternation. “You don’t have to be here, and soulmates aren’t real.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, nothing is real.” His smile fades. “What I mean is - you’re new here and don’t have half a clue what’s going on. Just like Eleanor. And I know exactly what’s going on and you come to me for information since nobody else can help you, just like Chidi. These meetings that we now have, so you can actually become captain, your version of earning a spot into the Good Place, are sort of like our own ethics lessons. Also, I’ve secretly always wanted to be a professor.” 

Erwin does make a valid point, but I can’t tell him that. Chidi was teaching Eleanor to be a better person, is he teaching me to be a better agent?

“So, Captain.” He continues. “What’s our next move?” 

I have to think for a moment. It is obvious that the Scientists won’t be of much help. I do not feel ready to talk to any of the military personnel yet. I remember my research from last night … the plane crash! 

“Do you know anyone who would know anything about the plane crash after the explosion?” I pipe up. 

Erwin groans. “We’re gonna wanna talk to George Cahill.” 

“What’s wrong with George Cahill?” I inquire. 

“Nothing is wrong with him personally, he’s just some old pilot. I just have some beef with people named George.” 

“Erwin, that is so politically incorrect.” I scold. 

“No it isn’t. Oh, you think I mean like- no! Oh my God … no. I’m a lot of things but racist isn’t one of em’.” He defends. 

“Okay, then who is-.” 

“When I was in middle school I knew a kid named George who almost bullied me out of existence, if you know what I mean.” 

“I’m sorry, but that is not the correct usage of the phrase ‘if you know what I mean’.” I gasp. 

Erwin leaves the shopping bag on the floor next to the counter and we walk over to George Cahill’s place of dwelling. I am led to the sight of a deteriorated army green airplane. The nose had been completely detached from the cabin, and both wings were broken off, one of which had been lost in the desert. All of this is located behind the Curio Shop, which I failed to notice due to the excessive decoration on the roof of the shop. Erwin leads me into the centre of the crash sight, and takes me to a door in one of the halves of the plane. 

“He  _ lives  _ here?” I ask. 

Erwin nods and I knock on the door. I can hear the clanging of metal being moved inside followed by footsteps. The door swings open and a elderly man wearing a vintage pilot’s cap and jacket glares at us from the inside. 

“What do you want, conspiracy kid?” he growls. 

“Mr. Cahill, you’re a sight for sore eyes, aren’t ya? This is Oscar. She’s new in town and wants to ask you a few questions.” Says Erwin as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. 

“Never met a woman named Oscar.” George says sluggishly. 

“I usually go by Ozzy.” I say with a false smile. “May you offer me some assistance? I want to help the citizens of StrangerVille, and I was hoping you knew what was going on.”

He glances at the both of us and then hesitantly says, “okay. Just don’t steal anything and close the door on your way down would ya?”

We follow George down a steep flight of stairs into a bunker that he made out of the cargo port of his plane. It could essentially pass as a normal apartment - that is if the walls were not made of metal, floor was not made of concrete, and a room next to the main area where it appears George is trying to grow his own plants… 20 feet underground. 

In the main area that serves as a kitchen and bedroom (much like my trailer) George sits at the foot of his twin sized bed, I sit on a metal folding chair, and Erwin stands in the doorway. 

“Now let’s make this quick. Penelope doesn't like visitors.” George starts. 

“I’m sorry, who is Penelope?” I ask. 

“The plane!” Shouts George. “Now, let’s see. No longer than three weeks ago I was at home, in Americana. It had been a while since Penelope and I had gone on a little joyride. Before I knew it we were over Chaandio. Something told me not to go directly above the land-” 

“Because of the hurricanes a few years ago?” Erwin interrupts. 

“Exactly. Because of the hurricanes. Now, at this point I could tell we were only over Maxis, so I thought we were safe. The acid rain hurricanes were only in Apathy and Redacted 1, as far as I know. Just as we flew into the desert region, I was nearly blinded by a flash of purple light that shone like a million beacons. Before I knew it, Old Penelope and I were on the ground in this dump of a town. I was fine but she was in pieces.” he explains with a laugh. “Yesterday I went to the market so I didn’t starve to death, and the damn mayor looked like he had blown all of his circuits. And he started talkin’ about how much he loves water.” 

I have yet to have met the mayor. I wonder how he behaves when he is not infected. At the time of the hurricanes in Apathy, my brother’s husband and his ex-wife were living in blimps hovering above the storm. I wonder if there is any connection with the mayor’s statement about water and Chaandio’s element being water. 

“This almost sounds like Chaandio’s way of getting back at us.” Erwin jokes. 

“The planet itself would never try to harm its people, this is man made.” Assures George. 

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Cahill. StrangerVille will appreciate it.” I say closing my notepad. 

Erwin and I are halfway out the door and I hear George say under his breath, “I’m not doing this for StrangerVille, I’m doing this for all of humanity.” 


	4. The Bugs ~ Erwin Pries

A few years ago, I had a teacher who told me that a book should never feel like the protagonist’s diary unless that’s the type of story you’re going for, and in that case - your story already sucks. I refuse to follow this information because the teacher who told me this lost her job after getting caught selling drugs to her students. In that case: 

Dear Diary, I’m Erwin Posidon Pries. I was born in San Myshuno 22 years ago, and my step dad hates me because I dinged my mom’s car door when I was 14. The rest of this can be established through story, or something. 

This morning I met an FBI agent named Oscar Whitmore. She was determined to save StrangerVille so she could become captain of her own precinct. I’m not sure what I get out of this though. She hasn't offered up anything just yet. I really do want to help her though. I just hope she doesn’t suggest a reward that involves me leaving town. I don’t like it here or anything, but I need to stay for Larry. When I got kicked out of the house as a teenager, Larry saved my life. He gave me money and a job, so I feel like I owe it to him to keep running the Curio Shop. 

As Oscar and I are leaving George Cahill’s plane, I hear the beeping noise that has been following me for weeks now. It resembles a less harsh microwave. I can’t take it anymore. I have to sleep with the air conditioning on even on the colder days just so I don’t have to hear it. This is one of the quietest evenings the town has had in awhile. Typically I can just listen to the road, or the chatter of the people at 8 Bells the local bar. 

“Frick!” I mutter the second the beeping starts again. 

“What’s wrong?” Oscar asks me as she flips through her notepad. 

“I’ve been having to listen to this stupid beeping sound since the feds got here.” I explain. 

“Do you think they bugged you?” She asks softly. 

Oscar steps closer to me and presses her ear into the fleshy part between my neck and shoulder.  _ That was weirdly intimate.  _

“Right.” She says calmly. “Come with me.” 

“So you can take me to the fake good place?” I shout after her. 

Oscar leads me back to her trailer and swiftly grabs a small plastic red case from under the bed. She slams the case on the kitchen counter.  _ I feel like I’m watching a medical drama and one of the patients is about to die. Wait- am I going to die?  _

Stiffly, I sit on the bed trying my damndest to remain calm, but it’s difficult to not absorb Oscar’s intense energy surrounding my supposed emergency. She sits down across from me near the head of the bed, and reveals an exacto knife and some black medical thread from her closed fists. 

“Alright,” Oscar looks me in the eyes and smiles. “There is no need to panic. I just want this dealt with now, and it’s probably gonna hurt a little bit, okay?” 

I nod, and she moves the part of my cotton, yellow shirt covering my shoulder to the side. 

Oscar begins the ‘surgery’. I feel the cold metal penetrate my skin. Strangely enough, that’s all I feel- there is absolutely no pain. 

“So, tell me about yourself.” She requests as the blade moves through a small bit of my flesh. 

“Why are you doing this?” I ask with dread. 

Oscar pauses and looks in my eyes again. “I’m trying to distract you from the fact that  _ I  _ \-- a person who was only in medical school for a year, and is now using items from the hardware store -- am giving you surgery.” 

“Fine. I didn’t always live in StrangerVille. I was born in San Myshuno, I’m convinced I’m adopted, my mom was pretty absent throughout my childhood -- even though we lived in the same house -- and she tried to make up for it through money and other material bullcrap. My stepdad was a dick. He was always trying to find a way to get rid of me, and blaming me for shit that we all knew damn well, was his fault. One day he succeeded and I was kicked out once and for all. It was for some stupid reason. My hamster got out of its cage and we had to tear apart the house looking for it. Stepdad yelled at me and called me irresponsible followed by some ableist slur that I was later told not to say. The next day, my mom and I went shopping and as I was getting out of the passenger door I smacked the thing on some concrete flower planter. The door was all dinged up and the people who I had to call my parents had the very easy discussion to finally let me go. 

“Fast forward three hours, I took a bus across the country, came here, met a guy named Larry, he gave me a job and a house. Badda-bing, badda-boom! My life was semi-okay again.” 

By this time, I’m out of breath and feeling melancholy. Bringing these memories back is never easy, but it’s a relief to actually tell another person. 

Oscar uses her teeth to cut the thread and ties the end. “Erwin...I’m so sorry that happened to you. Things will be good and not just ‘semi-okay’.” 

“Thanks, Oscar -- but I’m not looking for sympathy, just finish the job so I can sleep again.” 

“It’s done. You’re free.” 

She holds up a bloody ziplock bag with a small rectangular device emitting the same beeping noise. 

“What the hell is that?” I ask expressionless, still mentally exhausted. 

“It’s a bug. People use them to listen in on other people to gather information they wouldn’t get otherwise. Your situation was particularly odd though; the bug was embedded into your skin. Typically they just stick to people’s clothes.” Oscar explains. 

Normally this would be something that would send me into a blaze of panic, but once again- I am too mentally exhausted. Any type of emotional vulnerability makes me feel like I’m feeding myself to a pack of wolves. Holding a whole raw turkey in a lion’s den. Or Something to that effect. And then I finish feeling like I just ran a marathon, but for my brain. If I ran an actual marathon I would land myself in the hospital. In conclusion: someone was listening to me, and I don’t care. 

When I’m by myself I can’t shut up. Sometimes I'll sing entire songs outloud or tell myself stories or daydream out loud. There have also been instances where I recreated conversations where I wish things had gone differently. Nothing too deep, just some comebacks I wish I would have fed to my stepdad (his name is Harvey, it’s easier to call him Harvey, as he is nothing to me. It feels wrong to call him ‘my’ anything). There were also things I wanted to say to my mom (Kehlani) since I never actually got to have a proper conversation with her since I was a young child. 

Oscar rushes to the laptop and swings it open. She begins to type and shows me an image on an FBI shopping browser. “This is what they look like without blood!” She announces.  _ Why is she showing me this? _ I can’t help but think. 

“Now you’re probably thinking ‘why are you showing me this?’, But I have an idea. We can use these on suspects. An old fashioned interrogation won’t work this time. Especially since I had to drop the FBI thing. We can use these! I’m thinking we start with Leslie and the Mayor. Whaddya think?” 

It’s almost uncomfortable listening to Oscar use this many contractions in her speech. It’s like Siri speaking smoothe english. You just imagined it, didn’t you? Uncomfortable, right? I’m half convinced that she’s either drunk or lying to me.  _ Leslie? That makes no sense, I know she was possessed but still.  _

“Mayor Roswell wouldn’t be a bad idea, but we have to pick our moment. I’m sure he doesn’t just spit out secrets to any idiot on the street.” I finally respond. 

“Right, but we can get him a couple times. And Roswell doesn’t have to be the be-all end-all. Our next, for lack of a better word, target should be one of the military personnel.” 

“I know someone in the military. She’s kind of weird though-” 

“Like what kind of weird?” Oscar urgently interrupts. “Weird like Leslie weird, or  _ you _ weird?” 

I take a deep sigh. “Like the type of person who becomes INVESTED in her marriage and kids since all that crap happened to her.” 

“So a normal nuclear family?” Oscar laughs. 

“Whatever, not everyone is used to that. There’s always something wrong. No such thing as a happy family.” 

“Wow. I’ve been a part of multiple families all of which seemed pretty happy to me. When I was first born I spent a week with a tiwanese family, that’s who named me ‘Oscar’. They later realized that they couldn’t keep me for some reason. I dunno. A few people later, I found my forever family. They’re Jewish so I fit in a bit better, but the idea that I was adopted was very prominent. And the familial relationships were very healthy, and we were all very happy-” 

“But then your sibling came out as bi, got addicted to drugs and your mom cheated on your dad, right?” I dramatically interrupt. 

“No… we had life’s normal ups and downs like we weren’t on an HBO drama. We weren’t the Pearsons from  _ This Is Us.  _ It was normal.” 

I want to argue with her. I want it so bad, but I can’t. Oscar sounds like a Randall Pearson type person. Adopted over achiever who is almost favoured by one of the parents. I just know she was favoured, that’s why she says it was NORMAL. 

Our familial histories aside, tomorrow we bug the town. _What the hell am I saying?_

  
  



End file.
